Rain
by Catalina Day
Summary: FOURTH story up! --In which Sam has very strange dreams. Strange, but not necessarily bad.-- Slight AU, pre-Seddie, series of vignettes aka: one-shots .
1. Rain

**A/N:** Sam's mother yells at the cat to get a job. My interpretation? She's clearly off her meds. D:

Sam, Freddie, and Carly are 15 in this story. _Pre_-Seddie, I suppose. Slight AU. BTW, not Carly bashing here, just noting the differences I see between the two and how they look at the world.

Also, keep in mind that I haven't seen every single episode, though I have seen quite a few. Now, enjoy! XD

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**Rain**

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Sam pulled her hood further over her head, until she almost couldn't see when she looked up. That was pretty dangerous, considering she was currently scaling a fire escape in the pouring rain. It didn't matter to her, though. Just like it didn't matter that she was soaked, so the hood wouldn't make much difference anyway; she just wanted it there.

She stopped at a familiar window, and kneeled in front of it. At first, all she did was trace the outline of old, fraying Spiderman stickers. Batman was there, too. They were hangin' out, looking at the downpour that Sam was currently sitting in, talking about how stupid she was for not using the front door. She knocked lightly at first. Nothing.

Realizing that it probably wouldn't be heard over the sound of the rain, she knocked a little harder. A few seconds later, and she saw a geeky, tired face peeking out at her from in between the curtains. "Let me in, Fred-dweeb!" She wasn't sure whether he heard her, or read her lips, but in the next second he opened the window and held one curtain aside to let her in.

As soon as she stepped foot on his plush blue carpet, he closed the window and turned to face her. "Are you a complete _moron_?" Freddie was being stern with her, and she was a little scared as she stood there shivering. The role reversal was quick, and almost too much for her.

"Shouldn't I b-be saying that to you?" Though she tried to keep her cold-induced stuttering to a minimum, it managed to peek through. Another weakness shown, and even one was one too many.

Freddie's features softened just enough for her to let her mouth form a microscopic smile. He turned to his dresser and pulled out a large t-shirt and a pair of dark green swimming trunks. They were too small for him, but Sam knew he kept them around just for her. Freddie didn't know that she knew, but that only made knowing better.

She could tell that he was muttering to himself angrily as he closed the door behind him, and she let her smile grow.

The shirt was soft and gray and warm, and she could feel the back of it getting wet as she pulled her hair from underneath, and let it settle on her back. She moved her drenched clothes and shoes to the top of Freddie's hamper, as usual, and went to open the door.

"You could've fallen." These were the first words she heard as her sometimes friend marched to his bed and sat down.

"Don't worry," she said, closing the door, "the cement would've caught me." The smile died on her lips when she saw his expression. "What?" She hated it when he looked at her that way; it made her feel like jell-o inside, all quivery and strange.

He shook his head and looked away. "That's not funny, Sam."

"Yeah, well neither is anything else that's happened tonight…" It was nothing more than a mumble, but she was sure Freddie had heard; he was annoying that way.

Freddie quietly patted the space next to him on the bed and Sam obliged, sitting carefully, as far away as she could without risking falling off. They sat that way for a few minutes, Sam staring at her hands, and Freddie staring at the floor. Finally, Sam took a deep breath.

"My mom is off her meds again…" She didn't really want to get into all the gory details, and she knew Freddie wouldn't make her. He was kind of afraid of it. She understood that, and she didn't mind. Sometimes she was afraid of it too.

He relaxed and pushed himself further back on the bed, until his back hit the wall and he was sitting cross-legged. Sam soon followed suit, and they were thrust into silence again.

"I know you like to use the fire escape so Carly doesn't see you, but next time it's raining just use the freaking stairs. That way, I don't have to worry about her seeing a _Sam pancake_ on the pavement the next morning, instead." She could tell he was looking at her this time, that it was said half-jokingly, but her gaze couldn't meet his at that moment.

She _didn't_ want Carly to see, she never wanted Carly to have to witness this part of her. This silent, deadly weakness. And at least Fred-dork would never tell anyone about her mom, how she sometimes 'forgot' to take her medication for days at a time. Not just because it would be embarrassing for people to know, but because they both knew Sam might get taken away and shoved into foster care. And, as batshit crazy as her mother was, Sam loved her.

Sam loved Carly too, but she knew her best friend wouldn't think that way. She'd have to do the right thing. And usually Sam actually _liked_ that quality in Carly, but in this situation, there was no clear 'right thing' to do. Things were kind of black and white for Carly, in that respect, with only a few gray areas. Sam knew that she would tell an adult first, and worry about the consequences later. Do first, think later was normally Sam's area of expertise, except for when it came to doing what was right. That was where Carly came in, and that was part of the reason they made such a great team. Sometimes it pissed Sam off, though; at moments like this when she needed her best friend the most.

"Thanks, Freddie." Her voice was quiet. The cold that had sunk so deeply into her bones was taking it's sweet time leaving.

Before she even knew it, she was crying, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. Freddie lifted the covers and got in, leaving a space between him and the wall for Sam. She sniffled, and climbed under the blankets wishing she could stay there for the next four years.

But someone was with her, someone who cared enough not to throw her out on her ass for waking him up in the middle of the night. Someone who didn't pretend to understand, who didn't try to make it 'all better'. He was here, and though their bodies barely touched, she could feel the heat radiating off of him until it enveloped her, too.

Tonight, as it had been so many nights before, that was enough.


	2. Speaking Under the Influence

**A/N:** Decided to make this into a series of Seddie vignettes (also known as one-shots). This one is dedicated to _nleslie_, for coming up with the 'my life is a spiral' line. That was awesome, and you officially win the internets. :D  
Let me know if this seems rushed or awkward, people, or if it seems too formulaic; such knowledge is relevant to my interests.

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**Speaking Under the Influence**

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The numbers swam before her eyes, glowing brightly in the dim light of the front porch. Somebody next to her was staring into the bulb, waving their hands in front of their face and laughing. She rolled her eyes and walked slowly and carefully down the front steps, sitting heavily on them. Before she even realized that she had dialed a number, she could hear ringing, and then a click as someone picked up.

"Uh... hello?" Sam was almost sure that she recognized that voice, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was quickly becoming irritated and impatient, and suddenly it clicked in her head.

"Freddie?!" She said this happily, which she might've thought strange had she not just had one too many screwdrivers.

"Sam?" She nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her over the phone. "Are you... okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine Freddie. Fred. Fredward Benson." At this she laughed, but it wasn't the usual 'Hah! You're name is _Fredward_!' laugh. It seemed like she was laughing at a joke she hadn't told, and it was something he couldn't quite grasp. Once the laughter died down, Sam decided she didn't feel too well.

"You don't sound fi-" Sam sighed loudly into the phone, cutting him off as she spoke again.

"Listen. Fredward. I need you to come... and pick me up." All was silent for a moment, interrupted only by a quick "please".

She could hear the frustration in his voice as he grumbled to himself, the vague shifting of blankets in the background, and she giggled. "Look... can't you take a cab?" Feeling personally affronted that he didn't want to come save her from herself, she made various offended noises into the phone while she searched her pockets. If he didn't care enough to come, then maybe she _would_ take a cab. When her hands came back to her face, all she found was a piece of beef jerky, some lint, and a few pennies.

"...I don't have any money."

Freddie groaned on the other end of the line. Sam sniffed the beef jerky, and then decided to eat it. "Fine," he ground out. "Where are you?"

"Malcolm's party. You remember Malcolm Kinney? He dumped grape juice on you that one time..."

"Sam, that was last week." She could almost _feel_ him rolling his eyes at her. "What's the address?"

After a moment of mulling it over, she told him. She had taken that moment to look at the house number; just to be sure. And the street sign, too.

Someone stumbled down the stairs to her left, and fell flat on his face in the grass. Her phone slid shut with a click, and she almost laughed until she saw who it was. He grinned lazily up at her. She flipped him off, and went to go sit at the edge of the lawn.

--

Sitting there, waiting for Freddie to arrive, Sam had a lot of time to think. And at this moment in time, thinking was not her strong suit. She would start out wondering why she had called him, then that would turn into her picturing rainy nights when she was lonely, and he was there. But just _there_, not in _that_ way. Which then led to thinking about the stupid boy in the grass, and how his lips tasted like cigarettes and beer. How she'd wanted him, something, some_one_ that was just for her, even if it was only for one night. How he didn't want her back.

And so her thoughts cycled like this as she sat, cross-legged, ripping blades of grass from the earth and shredding them to bits. Just when she had started thinking of Freddie again, _he_ had to go and ruin it by sitting next to her.

"Go away, jackass." There was only anger there, and nothing more. Sam was good at being angry; it was easier than being sad or disappointed. Suddenly she felt cool, slimy fingers on her neck. It was sobering, to say the least. Her adrenaline kicked in, and she swatted his hand away violently.

"Ouch," he said, and laughed. She didn't look at him for a few reasons; because he was an idiot, and because he was still cute, and she was still drunk. "C'mon, Sammy... forgive me?" He started to reach his hand up again.

"Touch me, and you'll come away with one less finger." The lackadaisical apathy that had flooded into her with the vodka seemed to disappear. Maybe she just hadn't drunk enough. She had drunk a lot, though.

She was too stunned by his next (and last) words to her to do anything violent as he stumbled away, and back into the party. Too shocked to notice the sound of the engine rumbling in front of her, the car door as it opened.

"Sam, let's go." Looking up, she saw Freddie's face peeking over the top of his mother's car. She thought he must've had to sneak out of the house; his mother never would've let him drive to get her this late at night, especially in her current condition. Sam knew, like Freddie's wacky mom, that she was a bad influence.

As she got in, she didn't say anything. Just buckled the seatbelt and leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. Just like Ryan had said, she was 'fucking worthless'.

She shrank back into herself, seemed like she was smaller than she used to be. Freddie noticed, but he didn't say anything as they set off, the tires spinning on the road beneath them. It was the only sound to be heard.

Sam folded her hands over her stomach. She really didn't feel good.

--

The engine cut out as Freddie turned the key in the ignition, and they sat for a moment in the parking lot of Sam's apartment building. "Are you sure you're gonna be alright?"

"I'm fine." She got out of the car as soon as she'd said it, and started walking quickly toward the main door of the building. The sound of the door slamming closed, some hurried footsteps, and Freddie was in front of her. She stumbled, a bit taken aback. Maybe it was the alcohol slowing her down; that boy could barely even _walk_ fast.

"I heard what Ryan said to you... He's an ass."

A sound like a grunt came out of her throat, a choked laugh. Freddie just looked at her with those pitying eyes. For a second she hated him; viscerally, completely. She side-stepped him and continued on. His hand shot out and grasped her arm. "Sam-"

"What?" Sam asked, spinning drunkenly to face him. It was the second time she'd cut him off tonight. "You think I'm gonna be all 'oh ehm gee, my life is like a spiral, spinning down into dark, black, blackyness' just because some boy with... _stupid_ hair... didn't wanna kiss me?" She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing when he didn't answer her immediately. "Gimme a break, you weenie."

She tried to pry her arm away from him so she could leave in a drunken huff, but it just wasn't happening. The only reason he even managed to turn her around the first time was because she was drunk and tired and weak. And this time when he pulled her close and kissed her hard on the lips, she only got weaker, and entirely more intoxicated.

When he was done, she slapped him. Not hard; just right.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" Sam just shrugged and looked away while he grimaced in pain. If she wasn't so angry at everything in the entire universe, she might've smiled, because Fredward Benson looked oh so adorable rubbing his cheek with that baffled, frustrated look on his face.

"I don't need a pity kiss, especially from an ultra dweeb like you." For some reason, unbeknownst to her, she chose to stand there awkwardly, waiting for him to respond. Maybe she was hoping she was wrong.

"So you respond by slapping me in the face?" When she didn't say anything, he rolled his eyes. "I like you, and _you're_ an _idiot_." At that moment, he kissed her again. She felt really stupid. The butterflies in her stomach churned like a maelstrom as she pulled away and looked up at him. Sam wasn't used to getting what she really wanted, but right now she was willing to be cautiously optimistic.

Freddie smiled at her nervously. She then celebrated the occasion by leaning forward and vomiting all over his shoes.

Sam suddenly felt better than she had in weeks.


	3. Content

**A/N:** Everyone is sixteen in this one. Takes place chronologically a year _before_ the last story (Speaking Under the Influence). Sam does not like pep rallies.

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**Content**

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Sam's jean clad legs dangled to and fro, just beyond the ledge where she was sitting. Her sneakers would lightly bump the wall beneath her every now and then, barely making a sound. She was contemplating the red box in her hand; it was small and bright, and tonight it was her weapon of choice. Rather, what was _inside_ was of interest to her. There were three more boxes sitting off to her left, carefully placed further back than she was sitting. It wouldn't do to run out of ammo mid-attack. She opened the box.

The first raisin felt squishy and sticky, and she popped it between her fingers before tossing it through the railing to the mass of people below. She heard a faint, startled yelp, and scrambled to back out of the railing (where no one could see her) in case she'd hit a teacher. A minute later, she peeked over the edge. There were all the good little monkeys, waiting en masse for the slaughterhouse doors to open. Okay, so maybe it was just the gym, but she still qualified the forced pep rally attendance that high school offered as nothing less than torture.

It looked like nobody had cared about her little act of rebellion. She laid flat like a sniper, just barely able to see over the edge of the auditorium's balcony level entrance, and readied another fruity missile.

"I'd ask what you're doing up here, but I think it's obvious."

Sam nearly jumped when she heard his voice, until she realized it was Freddie. Instead, she opted to turn around slowly, projectile still in hand. "May I help you, Fredweird?" Her eyes narrowed until he chucked something small and brown in her general direction. She picked it out of her hair and smiled. "I see that I already have."

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically, stepping closer. Sam reached up and pulled him down next to her like a ninja on crack, looking at him wide-eyed.

"Ow!" She covered his mouth with her hand, grimacing at the thought of his spit coming into contact with her skin. But she had to do what was necessary to protect her position from enemy fire, otherwise known as teachers.

"Shut up Freddie," she whispered harshly, "you'll get us both in trouble." Freddie looked confused. Sam rolled her eyes and continued, "They were gonna see you, being nerdy so close to the railing, and we would've gotten in trouble for skipping the jock fest." Freddie tried to talk, but Sam's hand was still covering his mouth. He sighed frustratedly, and licked it.

Sam rolled away from him, but not before wiping her hand on his shirt. Just as she was about to insult him, he leaned toward her and whispered, "But I'm _going_ to the 'jock fest'. It's mandatory."

"Please, it's not like they're checking names at the door. And, no, you're not." He glared at her, and she glared right back. "You could give away my hiding space, dumbass. That's a risk I'm not willing to take, not even to get away from _you_."

Reluctantly, surprisingly, Freddie dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded. Sam held her breath for a second, but when nothing else was said, she raised an eyebrow and scooted toward the edge once more. The walking casualties were doing just that, pouring into the gym. While their backs were turned, she resumed her aerial raisin assault. She laughed as Gibby flinched and turned around about seven times in a jerky motion, eventually saying something about 'witchcraft!' as his voice faded beyond the green double doors.

Somewhere below her and to her left she heard a squeal, and peeked down to see Jenna Berkin going on about killer flies. Which was funny, no doubt, but Gibby was the last person she'd thrown a raisin at. She glanced at Freddie, looking away quickly to process what she'd seen. Again, she looked, and she hadn't been hallucinating: there was Freddie, devious smirk on his face, open box of raisins in his hand. When he looked up from Jenna's hilarious freak out, Sam couldn't look away. This was just too weird, too epic.

"What?" he said quietly, but defensively, sifting through the raisins in his hand for a good one, "She keeps cheating off me in math class."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Just a small one, strange and content. For the next hour and a half they talked (only when they were deprived of the opportunity to pelt people with small fruits, of course). Conversation was littered with punches and insults more friendly than harmful, and raisin spitting contests more good-natured than competitive.

By the time the pep rally was over they were out of raisins. But Sam was still smiling, and Freddie was too.


	4. Dreaming Things

**A/N:** This is much shorter than the other three, and Freddie doesn't exactly have a starring role. But it's still technically Seddie, and so I thought it belonged here anyway. I wrote this a while ago, but am just now posting it. I've been in a 'Supernatural' coma for the last few weeks, pretty much watching every episode I could get my hands on. Damn, I love that show... So, yeah. I was putzin' around in my documents folder after writing some fic for that, and that's when I saw this and was like: 'Wai hallo thar! I'mma put you on the interwebs'.

...uhm. Enjoy?

**Summary:** Sam has very strange dreams. Strange, but not necessarily bad.

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**Dreaming Things**

* * *

Sam wakes up from a really weird dream, all sweaty and confused. The bright red numbers on the clock sitting next to her on the nightstand tells her it's 3:58AM, but even when she rolls back over and closes her eyes, she can't get back to sleep. Images swim through her head and blend together. She turns again until her blankets tangle around her legs, trapping her in her own warmth. Letting out a frustrated grunt, she kicks them off of her violently, shivers as the cold of her room fully hits her.

The window is open just a crack, but she's afraid that if she gets up she'll start thinking different thoughts and forget what her brain told her while she was sleeping. So instead, she closes her eyes and concentrates on the feeling still pulling at the back of her mind.

Her mind slowly but surely categorizes the events of the dream, putting them into place chronologically in the way that only dreams can make sense. Backward and forward, sideways and in between; things soon become clear.

_In the dream she had been sitting and facing Freddie. There were colorful banners everywhere, fading into the background along with a cheering but blurry crowd. There were plates and plates of plain, warm donuts set in front of them, stacked high. The smell was nearly debilitating in the best possible way, and Freddie was smirking at her. They were both waiting for something, but she didn't know what. _

_She looked to her right, and the fattest priest in the world was sitting there in a throne comprised mainly of bleached turkey bones covered in tin foil. He smiled at her jovially, and she had briefly wondered how the chair could hold him up. Then the bell sounded. Before she had time to even start to think, she and Freddie were sitting in a quiet field full of white daisies, stuffing their mouths with donut after donut until someone called 'time!'_

Sam opens her eyes, and she is not sure whether she should laugh or cry. She considers it all for more than a few minutes, remembering the smell of the pastries, the feel of the flowers and grass against her bare feet. The smile on Freddie's face, and the laugh she let slip in between bites.

She gets up, closes the window, and gets back into bed. She lifts the blanket like a tent above her head, runs her hands against the fabric in front of her face, and sees them like shadows that play against the faint moonlight reflecting through her window and off the walls of her room. Decides she shouldn't think so much, and smiles.


End file.
